We’d already closed the door on that future. I had, he had. Leaves were flipped. That boat was gone, the train had left, and the drawbridge was up. I’d said no, he’d walked away, and then he’d come back with his shit ordered. All his ducks were in a row. Mine were fucking feral and squawking in my mental pond, and what I was clinging to, what I was desperately clinging to, was the careful distance he was keeping.
